


Keep

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Gen, PoE Inktober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 18:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: He has never been afraid in his entire life – until now. He knows how to fight danger and others and himself, but this is all of those thing and yet not quite any of them, and he is helpless.(Maerwald tries to deal with his Awakening.)





	Keep

**Author's Note:**

> (Prompts: PoE Inktober day 23: 'keep' + weekly PoE prompts week 63: 'spooky'.)

The marauder wakes, far from his homeland and yet having never left. There is a woman’s voice, different, but speaking to his memories all the same, and he remembers, grins, takes up a sword and a torch and starts searching. He will burn this place to the ground, but later; he remembers what he is going to do first.

 _You will not_ , the woman speaks as the half-visible stone walls around him shake – has he offended the gods? but _they_ are who broke the divine laws, who invaded their sacred lands! – he will find them and burn everything. _You will not_ , she repeats, her voice made of sorrow and power, without a trace of fear – she should be afraid – it is not her – wrong place, wrong _time_ – and he retreats, deeper and deeper and deeper into himself, the only space where…

The Wacher wakes with a gasp, the sword and the torch clattering to the floor as a sob wracks his body. He has never been afraid in his entire life – until now. He knows how to fight danger and others and himself, but this is all of those thing and yet not quite any of them, and he is helpless.

 _You are not_ , the Steward says kindly, power and sorrow in her voice, and he knows that she is lying, that she truly believes in him but her faith is misplaced. He sits at her feet and leans against her for support, knowing she will not leave him, knowing that she would not leave even if she could. With a sigh, he lays his cheek against her knee; the stone is hard, but when he closes his eyes the darkness makes it seem soft, and he falls asleep…

The soldier wakes, far from his homeland and yet having never left. There is a woman’s voice, different but speaking to his memories all the same, and he remembers, and he looks around for his father’s sword, but the fire – a torch? no, embers in the fireplace – is dying, and he cannot see anything but the hem of his mother’s plain skirt.

He is all grown up now, old enough to avenge his father – the savages came and scorched their houses and their lives, and his mother’s scars still pain her to this day, and for that, they will all burn; he remembers what he is going to do.

 _You will not_ , the woman speaks as the half-visible stone walls around him shake – has he offended the gods? but _they_ are who broke the divine laws, who attacked innocent settlers and showed no mercy, and so they will be given none – he will find them and burn everything. _You will not_ , she repeats, her voice made of sorrow and love, without a trace of anger – she should be angry – it is not her – wrong place, wrong _time_ – and he retreats, deeper and deeper and deeper into himself, the only space where…

The Wacher wakes with a gasp, stumbles, trying to catch his breath. He kneels and rest his tired head in the Steward’s lap, staining the folds of her gown with his tears. But the perfectly-sculpted hands remain unmoving, even as the stone warms under his cheek a little. She is but a statue, and no matter how much she would like to comfort him, she is powerless to do so.

 _I wish I was not_ , the Steward says gently, love and sorrow in her voice, and he knows that she is not lying, that she truly wants to help, but feels as lost as he is.

But she is a powerful soul, bound to and merged with an ancient fortress build on adra veins, magic and essence flowing in its very walls like a pulse. She cannot put her arms around him, but she can wrap the whole keep around him like a blanket; every stone remains in place, and yet the chambers curl inwards and fold in on themselves, layers of effort put into constructing Caed Nua weaved together, cradling him inside.

He rest his tired head in her lap and sighs, and then kisses her perfectly-sculpted stone hands in deep, overwhelming gratitude. His consciousness is slipping, and he wishes to say farewell while he still can find the words.

For years – decades – he has been one with the keep, interlacing his thoughts with it – and with her. A connection like that cannot be unravelled easily. But in time, it will fade, as do all things.

She made a safe place for him in the heart of the keep – in her heart – and he will hide there, safe from the world, keeping the world safe from himself. She will see to it. He will hide in her and he will sleep restlessly, waking from nightmares within nightmares, until one day he will not wake at all, and his sleep will become dreamless at last. He prays to the gods that it would be so.

Briefly, he regrets forgetting her name – or maybe never knowing it. But it matters little. He is part of the keep and she is too, overlaid and intertwined, two souls forever bound to the slowly crumbling walls.


End file.
